Arkham City: File Closed
by Illusive Writings
Summary: Spoiler Alert Post Arkham City. Tired, hurt and heartbroken, Bruce Wayne returns home after the Arkham City crysis, and thinks about as happened that night. Most of all, he thinks about Talia.


_I'm new to the fandom. At least I'm new at writing fanfictions about Batman. I've been reading the comics for years now and I've always loved the TV series and the movies (Tim Burton's more than Nolan's). Not to mention the videogames. The other night I finished the main quest of Arkham City (still trying to complete the rest, I'm at 65% over all at the moment) and, don't ask me why, this... this thing came out. I have the feeling it's because the scene in the Monarch Theatre reminded me a little (a little? Who the hell I'm trying to fool?) of the Castle season 3 finale. Stana Katic, who plays the female lead of the series, also voiced Talia Al Ghul in Arkham City, and well... let's say there were some similarities in the scene. So, here's my take on the next hours after the end of the night Arkham City. Also, I'm not a native English speaker and I don't use a beta for various boring reasons. Please, forgive any possible mistake I'll make._

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><p><strong>Arkham City – File Closed<strong>

The sun was rising.

He stood on the ledge of the old Gotham Bank building and surveyed what remained of Arkham City.

Or what remained of it.

Protocol Ten had stopped, the political prisoners had been saved, the inmates disarmed and the police was escorting them back to Blackgate. Strange's crazy plan was over, Ra's needed a long bath in his Lazarus Pit in Wondercity. Zsasz was locked in his hideout, waiting to be taken by the police and the Riddler had escaped, again. One day he would manage to get him behind the bars permanently, but not that day. He had done anything he could for those long, eternal hours he had spent there, trying to stop Joker from his murderous plan and at the same time trying to uncover the real reasons that drove Sharp to creating Arkham City.

He had succeeded, but what about the cost?

As he watched the sky clear in the East, he felt a slight headache springing from behind his left eye. He needed some sleep. An aspirin maybe. Or perhaps a whole bottle would have worked. He looked down at his suit and shook his head. Alfred would once again lecture him for ruining another one. After what had happened in Arkham Island eighteen months earlier, he had heard his lamentations for days while he fixed the suit.

For a moment, he considered the idea to sneak into Selina's apartment but then he remembered it had been destroyed by Dent's thugs. Elliot's one? It was close to his position, a couple of leaps and glides and he would get behind the old courthouse! Nah, that wouldn't work either. Too many surgical instruments, and the smell of antiseptic made him sick.

No, he had to go home.

"Barbara, are you still there?"

"Yes Bruce." she replied with a start. She had probably fell asleep or was about to. "What do you need?"

"Where's the Batmobile?"

He heard the typing on her keyboard. "About a mile north of your position, outside Arkham City limits. I'm sending you the exact position. Where are you going?"

A brief smile appeared on his lips. "Home. I need to check a something then I'm going home. Can you call Alfred and tell him I'll be there in an hour?"

"I'm here Sir, and I'll be glad to prepare you breakfast if you want me to."

"No Alfred, don't waste your time. I'll need some band aids though." the headache was getting stronger, developing into a full blown migraine. "And some aspirin."

"I've already set the first aid kit by your bed Master. I'll be waiting for your return."

"Thank you Alfred. And thank you Barbara for your support. Go and get some sleep now. You need it."

"No problem Bruce. Call me anytime you decide to go hunting again. Out."

She closed the call and he sighed. He looked down and saw the sign of the theatre. There was one last thing he needed to do before he went home. Something very, very important.

He jumped off the ledge and glided not to far away from his destination. With the rising sun hidden behind the tall buildings, it seemed like it was still night down there. He walked slowly in the deserted streets and alleys, until he reached the Monarch Theatre. Behind that place his parents had died. Inside that place, the woman he loved had found the same end.

He closed his eyes as he touched the door. He pulled the handle and the door opened with a shriek. It made him cringe a little. As he walked in, he found the traces of his last battle with Clayface smeared on the walls and what remained of the floor. The still wet clay hung and dripped everywhere. He walked around the hole that lad straight to the Lazarus Pit, not even bothering to look down and reached the stage, where he had seen Talia's body last time.

There were no signs of her corpse. He looked around, carefully searching for evidences on the crime scene: gunpowder residues, clay, sweat, blood and...

A footprint. A clear, defined footprint. There were signs of blood and clay alike, meaning that the owner of that print came there after Talia had been killed and his encounter with Karlo. He kneelt beside it and studied it carefully. The track wasn't from any commercial shoe he had in his database, and it was clearly the footprint of a woman, since it was small and thin. It showed signs of wear, but not enough to make it a really old shoe. Also, the heel of the print pressed a little more in the clay than the toes.

A boot.

A custom-made woman boot.

And he had met only a category of women who would wear this kind of shoe, with this kind of track and wear.

Talia's Elite Guards.

Satisfied with his findings, he exited the theatre and headed to the Batmobile. When he found it, exactly where Barbara had said, he sat in his seat and looked at the watch. Almost 7 AM. He was exhausted.

The long drive to the Wayne Manor took a little less than he had thought.

Lost in his thoughts, he had probably pressed the accelerator a little bit too much and exceeded in speed. Fortunately, the Batmobile didn't appear in any record nor it had a license plate. No speeding ticket for the Dark Knight.

Parking the car in the Batcave beneath the manor, he was greeted by the usually friendly voice of the computer first, then by Alfred, who stood silent on a platform not too far away from the parking place.

Sighing, he gripped the wheel for a moment before opening the door and sliding out of the car. His back and legs ached like hell, not to mention his shoulder, where the Joker had stabbed him, which still bled. Not profusely, but blood still oozed and trickled down his arm. It was quite a ticklish sensation.

He took off his cape.

If his face was reduced to a bunch of swollen muscles covered by a thin layer of bruised skin, his loyal butler didn't show it. His face was a mask of neutrality. "Had a good night Sir?"

His British humor lit him up for a moment. "Not bad Alfred. I had worse. What about you?"

"Except for a couple of quick outings with the plane, everything was pretty much the usual here at the Manor. Master Dick though called and asked if his help was needed. I took the liberty to say that his presence was needed elsewhere and that you could hold your ground alone."

Wayne nodded. "You were right Alfred." he handed him the cape and sighed. "Sorry about the suit."

"I have another one ready, in case you decide to go hunting, as Miss Gordon said, soon."

"You're the best Alfred. Listen, I'm going to take a shower and see if I can patch myself up. I think I will need your help for a stab."

Alfred nodded. "Call me if you need my services. Leave the suit out of your bathroom, I'll proceed to wash it and see if it's worth a repair or if I'd better sew another one."

"You make it sound like you actually sewed every single suit I've ever used." they had reached the manor now, and they were both heading towards Bruce's private quarters. Slowly, he was shedding each piece of equipment and Alfred carefully held them in his arms.

"Well, I've stitched more than enough. Now Master, if you allow me, it's time for some laundry. Take your time and call me as soon as you need me."

With that, he quickened his pace and walked over Wayne, leaving him to walk to the huge bathroom alone.

The first thing he did was shedding the boots, pants and upper part of the suit, leaving them just outside the door, then he locked himself in. He opened the water, let it warm and examined himself in the full-frame mirror beside the extra-luxury sink. His face was indeed a bunch of swollen muscles covered by a layer of bruised skin. A red whelp marred his right cheek, his chin had cuts on his chin and temple, a black eye and a five-o'clock that would be taken care when, and if, he decided to go out that night. Shaving was the last of his problems.

The stab looked nothing but a nasty scratch, still, he decided he would let Alfred tend to it, just in case.

Except for some very sore muscles and a couple of inflamed tendons, he was fine. The signs of the Titan poisoning had vanished as soon as he had drank Freeze's cure, that wasn't a concern. He was just exhausted. And sad.

Joker was dead. Strange was dead. Talia was dead. His beloved city had been torn apart by a closeted psychopath that no one would dare to contradict. Sharp had to pay for what he had done, either him or his other personality, the one that had written all that gibberish delirious words back at Arkham Asylum not two years before, pretending to be the Spirit of Amadeus Arkham. He really hoped that Vicky Vale could find enough material to nail that schizoid son of a bitch forever. And if she couldn't, Batman would give her anything she needed to put that man in a a lunatic asylum. That was his place.

He sighed again and stepped under the shower spray. The hot water stung on his cuts but helped relaxing his sore muscles. He washed all the grime off him with plenty of soap and shampoo, scrubbing until he felt clean again, then after half an hour, he dared to set foot outside the stall.

The bathroom was filled with steam. He blindly reached for his bathrobe and toweled himself dry. Beside the door, he noticed a stack of clean clothes and his own robe. Above the pile of clothes, the first aid kit. He smiled as he grabbed the box. Alfred had thought about everything:: there were band aids and antiseptic. He cleaned all the scratches and cuts and covered them with plenty of band aids and sterile gauzes, then wore his boxers, sweat pants and t-shirt, careful not to let the sleeve over the stab, then quickly combed his wet hair with his fingers, grabbed the kit and his robe and went looking for Alfred.

He found him downstairs, in the kitchen, preparing some tea, apparently.

When he saw Wayne on the door frame, he smiled and gestured him to sit at the table. Silently, he checked the stab wound, cleaned it, stitched it and covered it with more gauze. "There you go. Like new."

"Thank you Alfred. Have you heard anything from the press about tonight?"

"Not anything precise. Everyone is trying to find someone to accuse, and it seems both Sharp and Strange are the perfect targets, but Miss Vale intends to dig deeper than the others. Maybe because she was a witness?"

He nodded. "Probably." he donned his robe and glanced at the cup of tea Alfred had placed in front of him. "I'll take it upstairs. I'm going to sleep, probably until tonight. If anyone other than Jim, Barbara, Dick or Tim calls, asking for what happened to Bruce Wayne in Arkham, tell them I hid for most of the time in a safe place and waited to be rescued. I'm not available for interviews or anything like that. No comment on any other questions. The Arkham City file is closed. And I need some rest."

"Yes Sir, I wholeheartedly agree with you. May I suggest the Dark Knight could take a couple of days off and gather his bearings while the Gotham City Police Department organizes again?"

Wayne stopped just outside the kitchen. "One day. The Dark Knight will take one day off. Then he'll be back on track. They need him, down there."

With that, he left and headed to his bedroom.

As he set the cup on his nightstand, he wished he could turn back time and save Talia.

All he wanted in that moment was creeping underneath the bedsheets with her, make love and fall asleep, tired and sated, for the rest of the day.

But no such luck.

Her body probably lay somewhere in Wondercity where her guards decided what to do. Or probably, they were taking here somewhere in the Middle East to bury her. Or Ra's had already been thrown in his Lazarus Pit and he was taking care of her.

He took off his robe and set it by the foot of his bed, grabbed he thick covers and slid inside, wrapping the warm woolen covers around him. He had dived a couple of times in the freezing cold waters of Gotham bay and his body felt cold as much as his heart.

Talia was dead.

The only woman he had ever loved had been taken away from him, right before his eyes.

He failed at protecting her.

She had willingly sacrificed herself to save him from the Joker, or Clayface or whoever he was, and he himself had failed to protect her. To save her from that psychopath.

He had enjoyed killing her, Wayne was sure of that. He had taken away one of the few things, or persons, in that case, he really considered close to his heart.

He hadn't expected to see her when he had crawled in Wondercity looking for Ra's. The fact that her guards were here didn't mean she was there too. He had hoped, but he had thought they were there to protect here father. But even if he was dying from the Titan poisoning, he had been extremely happy to see her, even in that kind of circumstances.

After "that night in Metropolis", as she herself had mentioned, they hadn't had much time for them. He had wanted to call her, ask her to meet somewhere, but his pride had stopped him every time. Bruce loved her for who she was, but Batman couldn't meddle with people who killed for a living. Who took lives as if they were drinking a glass of water.

Still...

He loved her.

And he had lost her.

Forever.

He wanted to cry, but he had forgot how to do that long ago.

His mind was becoming more and more hazy as sleep came over and dragged him in a realm of total blackness and calm. He couldn't think straight.

But there was a remote idea in the darkest corners of his mind that managed to make itself noticeable. There was something wrong in his reasonings. A missing piece he could not figure out. Something important that he had left behind, for some reason.

He's heartbroken, he can't think straight. He had been driven by grief and rage for the rest of the night, as he looked for clues about Riddler's hideout and how to save his hostage, not to mention finding the Identity Thief, better known as Thomas Eliott, one of best friends from childhood.

He took a deep breath, covered his eyes with his forearm and went back in time with his memory.

"Think Detective, think! You've missed a piece of the puzzle."

Ra's Al Ghul... Strange... Joker... Hush... Riddler... Protocol Ten... Talia...

His mind kept going back to Ra's though, and Wondercity.

What the hell was that?

Then, it hit him like a lightening.

Ra's Al Ghul.

Talia was his daughter.

He had access to the Lazarus Pit, a device that could defy even death!

He loved her too much to let her go like that.

He had sent her guards to retrieve her body to resurrect her!

He figuratively punched himself for being so stupid. How could he have miss something like that?

Still tired, but not so much heartbroken as before, Bruce Wayne, AKA Batman, the Dark Knight, the World's Greatest Detective, fell asleep with a smile on his face. The file was truly closed. Time to open a new one. Hush's.

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><p><em>Alright, done. A stupid one shot I wrote to get this idea out of my mind. I've had this scene in mind since I've finished the game. So, here it is. Let's go back to Star Wars fanfictions, it's better! Hope you liked it!<em>


End file.
